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“Does he own the property now?” Dad asked.

“Not personally,” Patty said. “But he manages a considerable amount of it and will inherit leadership over the whole community.”

“Is he older?” Mom asked.

“Twenty-eight.”

“Only twenty-eight?” Mom sounded impressed despite herself.

Patty’s grin widened. “Tall too.”

I made a desperate cutting motion across my throat.

She ignored me.

“How tall?” Mom asked.

“Six-three.”

My father gave an approving murmur, which raised questions I didn’t have time to investigate.

“And he’s single?” Mom asked.

“Very.”

“Has he been married before?”

“No.”

“Children?”

“No.”

“What does his family do?”

“They own land.”

“How much?”

“A lot.”

“Where?”

“Near here.”

Mom inhaled, preparing for the next round.

Patty cut her off. “So, you two can stop playing matchmaker. You’re bad at it anyway.”

The silence that followed was so complete I could hear the faint hum of my refrigerator.

Patty handed the phone back. I took it without knowing what to do.

“Sloane,” Mom said. Her tone had changed entirely. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Who is Hudson?”